Into the Shadows
by addyliners
Summary: Marvel!AU. Chiara, next in line, sole heir to the dark throne, daughter of the end of day and dawn of night, the setting sky and the rising sea, life and death. All that knew her feared and respected her. She was their future queen, the future light. When the crown would rest on her head, their futures would change. But it will take more than just her to own the throne.
1. Chapter 1

They had ruled for centuries between the worlds. Everyone thought the land of the dead was barren, dry, hot, and cold. Everyone believed that nightmares and torture awaited the world of the damned, but it was not. That was the world of penance, payment, and curses. A world which all passed before kneeling before them.

They granted second chances, but there was the curse of damnation. The crown had known the beauty of the world before rot took root and spread. Knowledge of the world before and beyond was their curse, their power, and reason. But for her, it reached far beyond that.

Chiara, next in line, sole heir to the dark throne, daughter of the end of day and dawn of night, the setting sky and the rising sea, life and death. All that knew her feared and respected her. She spent her time like one of them, fought on the battlefield side by side, but she was never like them. She wasn't cursed to live with the night, forced to be hidden during the day. She was their future queen, the future light. When the crown would rest on her head, their futures would change. Their Warrior Princess would become their Queen General, bleeding the worlds together.

* * *

Chiara stood at the front line with her many warriors behind her. Her armoured body lost its gleam, its beauty. Dirt, blood, and flesh covered the handiwork of blacksmiths and craftsmen. But they did their job well, giving their future queen beauty in terror.

Across the empty valley were those that opposed her, opposed her family, and opposed her rule. One man, their leader, their captain, stood in her way. She didn't want them dead. She needed them. But mortal pig-headedness stood in her way.

He was one of many she had sights on. She knew the toughness ahead of her, but this obstacle was putting up more of a fight than she anticipated. Humans – so primitive, so basic, so simple, and yet they were defying the odds of her army. Or maybe her army was just complacent.

The moon had yet to rise when she slipped through all guards to the leader's tent. He stood tall, his broad back to her, hunched over a table with figures. His armour was cast aside on a post with more care than he would've wished to pay. This was a fight he wished he didn't have.

"Captain Rogers." She expected a jump, a drawing of weapon, but there was no surprise. He motioned to the chair he had abandoned and allowed her a seat, the least he could do for a royal. Her simple black dress shone with the dull light of the small flame, revealing no weapons on her.

"I want this to stop, Princess," he heaved, leaning on the table for support. "Too many men have lost their lives."

"I've seen more blood spilled in other wars for far less, Captain. But I agree. This needs to end, but I cannot let you go free." She fiddled with a figure, the one she supposed was her. A raven. She buried a scoff as she placed it back where it was. "How about one man – just one – instead of all of them?"

"You're going to need to sweeten the deal a lot more than that for me to leave my comrades." If asked if he was cocky, he would utter no, but he was every bit overly confident with his words. He could rally strangers from far corners with a few choice words. His image could string up pride, courage, and awe. He didn't want to disappoint his army; he wanted to be an inspiration even in surrender.

"Become the greatest general of the most loyal armed forces you'll ever meet or lead the most skilled squadron to ever exist. You'll have soldiers with skills you could only imagine and weapons that only my kingdom could ever produce. All of which, is your choice."

"And what would become of you, their Warrior Princess?"

"I'm just a decorative piece, like all royals are," she lied. "I inspire and rally, but not fight nearly as well as some of my generals do."

A scoff left his lips before his body left his stance, caging her on the four legs. "My wounded say otherwise."

She could smell it on him. A smell so sweet, it ran chills over her skin. It was her favourite taste and her favourite smell to catch. She didn't need magic to know what his heart and mind were saying. Laying her lips on his, the hunger he had festered over the battles breathed in her. And she could satiate it. Smell of blood, the throw of an axe, and the recoil of a bullet ricocheted into him, quenching all that he was searching. But it wasn't his yet.

His simple mind couldn't figure it out. He pulled her close, breathing her in as he tasted her lips, yearning for more of what she offered. His tongue searched for every crumb he could find. His hands roamed over the softness of fabric she wore, digging for a treasure he didn't know. What she had to offer was close, too close to lose. It was all that he truly wanted, but couldn't admit. But she knew it – she knew him.

"Tell me what you want, Captain," she breathed between interlocked lips. His response was hunger, but she could not return to him what he wanted without his permission. All that he had seen so close to being his, faded quickly behind closed lids. He chased it, but it never came back.

"Yes, I want it," he gasped as he searched her lips for the answer. Crashing waves of his deep desire he shared with no one cascaded into his mind.

Her cloak fell to the floor and more like it followed. His and hers were insignificant as the tent became theirs. The candle snuffed out, leaving its scent to hide their feral one. The darkness was her friend, bringing with it a gift for the acquisition. He drank her skin, drank the darkness that permeated from her, inhaling all of which she could offer him. Her jaw was the gleaming armour of a champion. Her collar the chant of an army behind him. Her neck the never-ending horizon of soldiers to heed his command. Her breasts were the clanging of fight, breathed in with her moans of pleasure. They were sweeter and richer than the sounds of victory, and he could win battles forever if he could hear her sounds.

Yearning to hear what his true victory would sound, she stopped him, raising him back up to look down at her through golden lashes. "What do you see, Captain?"

A smile walked the line towards a smirk as Chiara lowered herself. The blazing trail along his front that she left pumped his blood like the anticipation of war. No woman or man was able to get him afire like the sound of war, but the princess before him ignited a wildfire that was unstoppable.

The appendage that hung between them intimidated most women. Others would comment, give him the fearful eyes of a woman to be conquered by just a part of him, but not her. Her eyes had seen monsters that weren't nearly as pleasurable as this. This was just another notch in her victory post.

He slipped in between her lips, slowly and purposefully, and with it came the first battle. He could smell it, taste it, and faintly hear it as her movements both of mouth and tongue coursed through him as if he was there. Every reason he chased a fight was brought up with just her movements. The quicker she bobbed her head, the faster his trigger finger fired. Slipping calloused fingers into her dark roots, waves night pouring over his fingers like water through hands. She let him control her, she allowed him to make her his gun. But he was not a one-trick pony.

A lewd trail of spit and his liquid dribbled down out of the corner of her lip. "Is it all that you wish for?" Her devilish gaze gleamed in the darkness as sex coated her tongue.

Steve dropped to her level, pushing her further, closer to the ground that blood flowed through. The earth took their victims, their fallen, for its own. And they could hear them. Many feared being so close to Death, but not the noble leaders. They welcomed Death's challenge, stared it straight in its sights, and they came out the victor.

His darkened blues fell into her pools of night as he caressed the spoils of war. Her skin, soft like cream, was nothing of a sign of what he had heard of her. Even as his hand began to memorise the feel of her face so quickly travelled down to the sensitivity between them, he spotted no sign of terror that she was so known to cause. She was beautiful and unforgiving, like the deep ocean in a stormy night, a warrior goddess.

Chiara shut her eyes as he made contact with a spot she let so little near. Her own body allowing him ease to pleasure her and bring his own wish to her lips. Steve watched as the battle-worn face contorted into a bundle of delight, triumph. Her throat was invitation to see his would-be army once again, and he gladly accepted. Sucking on her soft skin, his deft fingers worked quicker than his mouth. Faster, faster he seemed to go, but his lips locked her to the ground as her mind tried to escape. He grasped her mounds and soon he heard a victory cry like none other. This was no horn of victory; this was utter conquest.

There was no control over what he saw from her as he entered her sweet, coated embrace. Never had he slipped into something so tight, so snug, so easily as her. She was small, tiny, almost fragile, but her grip was like a pleasing vice. Will pushed him through and its reward was a gift unbeknownst to any man.

Hips collided as flesh resounded around the tent. Darkness hid their actions, but the night echoed their yearnings. From tip to base, he buried himself in her to the hilt. Each collision bounced her modest chest. Pants and moans escaped them as he emptied her and filled her quickly before she could recognise the void. Steve swallowed her moans and louder yelps of pleasing into his throat, never faltering in his abrupt, staccato motions. Tighter and tighter she became as he tangled his hand in her hair once more.

It was all there for him. With her pleasure came the smell, the sight, the sounds, and the feeling of war and its glories. She would guarantee the field for him. He would guarantee her domination. It was everything he ever yearned for. They held parades for his return, paid the fallen with his symbol on their graves. He would be immortal in victory and in death. As the parade came to its destination, she stood in all her finery, but none of it could compare to the beautiful smile she saved for the man that brought her glory. His speed chased after it, his pumps and grinds beseeching her validation on him. She quivered, tightening around him but holding on for him.

"All the glories," she forced out. "All the victory. You will be revered in both life and death," her words came in moans and pants. "But who was it all for?"

"My queen," he released as he emptied all that was within him in her. The final thrust had her clenched around him so tightly he felt like it was a throttle to death. But he felt her ooze around him, accepting all that he had deposited with her own. This was an agreement, a confession, and a compromise; one man to save a thousand, only to offer thousands more.

"I will fight for you, my queen," he said properly as he waved the hair from her face. The stars above his tent were cast in her sights and he understood what the silence between battles meant.

Above them the skies heavied with a cloud that hid stars and moon. Creatures that never slept waited for the return of their princess. But as their light disappeared they knew that what they craved was over. No more war until the next, but they knew it would come soon.

The royals never stopped being hungry.

* * *

_Author's note: This is the first chapter featuring Captain Rogers in my alternate universe with the Marvel cast. This will read sort of like an anthology series and I will try give everyone a chapter, if the inspiration and material is there for me._

_Please tell me what you think of this story and if I should continue it! Leave a comment or message me if you don't want to broadcast your thoughts! I want to continue this story, but I keep going in and losing motivation with it. I feel like fanfiction has died, but I want to be proven wrong! So, please, leave comments! Even if it's two words or so, they matter!_

_Thank you, and keep on being good humans!_


	2. Chapter 2

The Nine Realms were ablaze with rebellion. One Jotun king rallied the restless, the chaotic, and the malicious. He had been scarred, deceived, and ripped of all that could've been his. His return was to ruins. The skeleton of his magnificent kingdom lay at his feet. The destruction he learned from his fathers blossomed forth his throne of stone and ice. His cold heart was known better than his tale and he made sure to write his own victories.

Loki's heart was much like his kingdom's, but he could never be one of them. He wasn't a giant nor could he be rid of the Aesir magic that ran through him. Among the dark and blue he was a shining light, reflecting the moonlight stronger than any part of the ice fortress. But without their former king, they only had him.

She arrived at the behest of his army. The sole force that withstood his great militia for a fortnight was in all appearances feeble. Her armour was thin, held to her by a fragile black cloth. Her metal feet scraped against the stoic ice, the dull thud of mere mortality echoing around the chamber. Neither weapon nor scar displayed her as a warrior. She was just a centrepiece.

The burliest frost giant forced her on her knees before his king could descend. Her curtain of midnight fell from behind her to bury the face of a stupid rebellion.

"Why have you been brought here, foolish mortal?" Loki hissed as his cold dagger lifted her gaze.

Emptiness drowned him. An abyss of darkness slithered from her gaze to embrace him in a familiar feeling. His order slipped from his silver tongue before he knew they were uttered. The sound was deafening, but it was silenced by the girl in front of him. She broke no delight or fear as the cold door shut all life out. The roofless monument of the skeletal palace drifted in the cold wind only the endless nights of Jotunheim knew.

Emerald eyes looked on in horror as the magic of Asgard's once-king slipped from him. Blue, ridged skin crept from around the hilt of his blade to where he could no longer see. The emerald reflection that he knew so well disappeared behind a scarlet-eyed monster.

Limitless magic coursed through him, much stronger than he knew possible. The tears and cries of broken hearts and fallen, limp bodies surged through his veins, firing his life with the fuel he required. The taste was delightful on his lips. The spoils of war, victory, and power were flavours so hard to pinpoint. The strength in him grew stronger, his heart elating at his desires, but with it shrank the magic he harboured dearly.

"A price must always be paid when a mortal acts like a god," his captive's voice rang like a dark comfort.

Dark ink emerged upon her creamy, milk skin. Markings he had only read of in the dark corners of Asgard's library were there before him. The bearer of the stories was a figure he never thought was real. The ethereal goddess of the end of times, eternal sleeps, and pure pandemonium was the creation of bored minds. Yet his inspiration was nearly in existence.

The silver of the blade remained at her chin as she rose from her knees. Her eyes had yet to betray her as she allowed the tip of the blade to caress the ridges of her throat. Such a frail beauty held strength Loki could only portray.

"What is it that you want, Frost King?" she whispered.

Words coiled in the air with his warming breath as stars continued to rush around him. "Domination. Power."

Finally her blank beauty broke. Her hands snaked along his leather attire. The magic within his heart awoke as it felt her touch through the thick, obscuring layer. Old magic lived in her. No spells, no rhyme, and no potions were known to her. Sheer will and unadulterated power drove her. It was intoxicating in its abundance. She had so much to give and so little reason to act.

"This war you have waged has gone on quite enough." Her voice didn't come from her lips. It wafted along the stars and dark spaces, all of it her. "Join me and overdose yourself in kingdoms you could never imagine. They will kneel and coo at your feet. Stare on in adoration and fear."

He could imagine. He knew exactly who she was. With a flash of green, the ice cracked around them, landing his feet on the stone of his palace harshly and defiantly. "I am not to be another puppet to a blind, audacious crown!"

Her smirk only grew. "You know who I am then?"

"A treacherous snake is what you are! Your words are vile poisons, just like the lies that you exude!" The blade still at the end of her throat trembled with his words, scratching her porcelain skin. The friction elicited a curl of delight in his blood, but his scarlet gaze saw no mar upon her.

Two regal chairs erupted from the ground around them. "Shall we discuss this as proper leaders then or would you rather wish to continue like children?"

Jotun liquor was different from the rest of the Nine Realms. Cold washed over its drinkers' hearts with the darkest and strongest of tastes. Valuable in trade, but so very few coveted the liquid. So often had ignorant consumers been found frozen beyond revival, it was traded as a weapon more oft than nought. The young woman before him drank it as if it was water.

"My militia have smelled your war well before we arrived," the raven across from him began. "They wish nothing more than to purge through your people and destroy every trace of you and your kind. My people know nothing but destruction and my order… But you know all of this."

The liquor took its effect on him, easing into him as he eased into his seat. "You know very well that I cannot let you do that, Princess Chiara."

"Then I offer only this." The once comfortable distance nearly closed as the princess across from him leaned forward. Her icy breath chilled his lips without touch. "Take all the power you can take with my army. You merely have to lower your crown. You want the power of a god. Only an Immortal can grant you that amongst the living."

His Jotun gaze flashed once away from her eyes, but that was enough. His silver tongue lapped at the sapphire bead that found recluse upon her upper lip. "I am a god – the God of Mischief. And I do not barter with insurgents."

A cold hand clasped around delicate larynx. The fires of hell stared ferociously into the chasm of depths. "Maybe if there was some truth I could see, there could be fruition from this discussion," he growled lowly.

The void he refused to break from morphed into vacant stars. The pool of a galaxy he bathed in as he fell away from his past, the lies that raised him, stared indifferently back at him as the day he first welcomed them. Nothing could reach her gaze regardless of what her mouth did.

He did not waiver as her hands trailed coolly over his legs. The slow nature of her movements twisted like a delectable blade in a wound. Her magic lured him in, through touch, through mind. All that she had conquered felt to be his. The stories he had spent hours reading about was displayed in all its magnificence, the stories paling to the event. The taste of blood was intoxicating, the sight of fleeting life invigorating. Creatures of darkness stared back at him – at her – in adoration, respect, and pride. Their terrifying grins were the tacit communication to their crown. She was their future and they would do anything for her.

"I am not a myth, Rightful King of Jotunheim," she drawled as she leaned back in her seat. "You've read and now you have seen the fabled tales. You have witnessed them through my eyes of the past. What say you?"

"You taste far more scrumptious than your offer," he bartered. "I decline your offer, but you I do not."

Chiara's teeth shined like a burning sun. "An Immortal is never an offer. To be with an Immortal is a gift bestowed. A gift that must be earned."

The chair dissipated as she rose to her height. Such delicate beauty, bright as the burning star yet dark and ever-changing as the moon, held such tumultuous power. Her withdrawal from him took the strength he could feel from her magic. Such close-kin magic could only grow stronger together, and the root of its strength was far from attainable.

"We will meet again, Princess."

Chiara returned to her warriors, comrades, and strength. Some were lost, mourned, and disposed of as per her mother's request. The dark crowned hood of Death flitted invisibly between her peoples. She shed no tears and honoured no prayers as she took the last of their life, their soul, and their damnation. Her princess daughter watched through swings of her blade and toss of lifeless bodies her mother take what was hers.

A beautiful mother and a stunning daughter aided one another in a war that waged on for centuries. This was her daughter's place, but she had yet to fully belong. Their doting partner and father crept up over the horizon, bringing the moon to enlighten before flushing the world into pitch.

Beautiful and vivacious creatures of damnation awaited their princess. Her trusted leaders, the alphas, stood in front of their people. Only they would get to hear her news.

Loki was left cold, empty, and pining after a ghost of a woman. She did not fear the monster he was made to believe. She did not flinch at the cold he surrounded himself in. It was him to have lost regardless of the crown still upon his head. A terror so beautiful must be his.


	3. Chapter 3

Bodies were strewn across the horizon. Blood of all colours painted her armour, the lustre gone with only a few moments of fight. She heard the growls of the yellowest eyes, the hiss of the soulless gaze, and fires of the deepest hell-dwellers all around her. Other royals and aristocrats hid behind their men; not her, not ever. She bore her face to all, the blood of others glistening through her dark tresses.

In the centre of gilded men was her opposition. Lightning emblazoned him as a beacon across darkening bodies. The bluntest of objects in his hand shattering the very soul it came in contact with. From afar, she watched as her mother's face struggled to cope with the loss. It was not a mortal's choice to take salvation from damnation.

Her mother's vengeance boiled the princess's blood. A mercurial tear of ire fell from the invisible queen, onto her daughter's fluttering wings. Through the Infinite Armour the Immortal wore, black wings burst forth, disintegrating the Asgardians that dared to mar her. Heads of golden armour whipped to the suddenness, but the silver helmet of their king reflected the darkness that was to come.

"You are on your own, my little shroud," Death's voice gloomed over the blares of war. "I will not allow the souls of our people be taken."

All around the creatures of darkness were ripped from the ground they defended. Damnation was stolen to allow the sea of gold to be brokered. "Show no mercy," were the last words to be echoed around her cranial barricade.

A booming, thunderous laughter cracked the open skies around them. The field of gold shined in the light, her father testing her worth. Gleaming swords poised to be used, but their eyes spoke otherwise.

It was her turn to laugh. "Your mighty army are weak, Your Majesty!" she cut gently through the silence. "This is no army. This is weakness in hiding."

The sun burned brightly but the metal burned harsher. Gold melted so easily and the smell of fiery skin underneath mounds of molten gold was delicious to the taste. Panic arose as short lives ended quickly, her dark wings beating the heat away. Music sounded beautifully from the dying voices of Asgardian soldiers. Foolish mortals to believe beauty was the way of the gods.

With all of the war's anger raging through his being, the hammer of a dying star blasted towards her at an inhuman rate. Thor barely caught her smirk as thunder coursed through her from the weapon. So casually she held it. So coolly she marvelled at the inscription. The symbol his father before him had carved glowed with not the gold of the realm, but the black of her wings.

"Your father always was so narrow-minded when it came to you," she drawled on. She walked like an oncoming storm. Thunder coursing through fingertips. She wielded the storm like she was born to it. The storm consumed Thor, him a conduit for what was inevitable. But she was the shelter from the storm's rains, thunder, and lightning. This dark princess whose face was smeared with the blood of his men and a grin that could make the devil blush was much more worthy than he for his father's creation.

The hammer was cast aside, like a child bored with their new toy. Blood squelched beneath her, bones cracked feebly, and liquid metal dragged with her steps. But still, the electricity remained.

All the strength he could muster was shot towards her. Blue light broke the plain between them. She was wrapped in his lightning, electrified entirely. Stronger and stronger did the connection pulsate, but still she continued her slow approach.

At a hair's breath away, she stopped. The jungle of electricity fully enwrapped around her, reaching out from him. But what wasn't solid became rigid in his grasp. A solid blue aura surrounded her devilish smile, connecting him to her. "Would you like to truly become a god of thunder?" she proffered. "Oh, that's what you really wish for? Ultimate power, dominion, god status, eh? You and the one sitting on Jotunheim truly are brothers."

"Adopted brother. He's gone mad," Thor finally spoke to his adversary.

She elongated tales of her exchange with the other son of Odin and he hung on every word. Her delicate lips morphed the words gracefully at such proximity. But that was her point. That was her purpose. That was the intent of the Infinites creating the perfect offspring. The blue that entrenched her stretched around him, binding him to her will.

"Loki was much more difficult to make kneel," she lied as she struck the lightning rope into the ground. The mighty Thor fell to his knees, bound by arm and leg to the ground at her feet. "And for the record, neither one of you were sane to begin with."

Captain of his own army with no one but her to outrank him, Steve Rogers awaited his princess at their temporary base. The sudden appearance of her forces worried him, but her longest serving servant coiled his thoughts into peace.

The elderly vampyr, withered only by the time in their eyes, eased the terse soldier. "She is no damsel. Our princess needs no heroics, but you should not have been so careless with your heart's desire."

Steve paced across the frontline, waiting for her to appear. The looming dark cloud of a storm to come only further worried his expression. He could taste the anger and the struggle in the air as electricity shattered the darkness for the briefest of moments. It could've been beautiful had he not been so anxious for her return.

She left angry, frustrated, and vengeful for redemption from their last quest. Jotunheim remained elusive from her control. It was a chess match neither had plans on losing, but brawn was not to be a factor in her conquest of the ice palace. And still she ordered him and his men to sit yet another battle out. She could not afford his casualty to a mortal who acted like a god. He was the damsel in her Immortal eyes.

The encampment awoke to the thunderous booming around them. The smell of desperation and weakness was pungent in the air even the normal man could smell it. Lightning and thunder showered around them louder and louder with every passing minute. And then the Captain saw her.

A string of blue lightning in her hands directed her beaten captive. Blood as red as the super soldier's ran down from a cut on his face and muddled his bruised and fisted hands.

"Gods don't bleed," she simply said as she dragged the larger man into shelter. She handed the man to two of her larger, stronger followers as orders fell from her lips. Steve followed into her comfort, a sudden thud falling at the base of her seat.

Chiara sat on no throne, wore no crown, yet remained every bit the future-queen she was harboured to be. No blood and no mar could ever erase that. Thor's defeated blue gaze fell on the woman that kept him in electric chains, so delirious he thought he saw a crown of sparkling stars and shadowed mist around her. She studied him, her form entirely human once more. The Asgardian blood was wiped from her face by a warm cloth he hadn't noticed grasped in her hand. Her metal made no noise as she stepped towards him, clean and shining. Gently, she cleaned his face from the charring and blood.

"Captain, send a message to the coy king of Jotunheim," she instructed. "I trust you will figure out what best to regale him with."

She did not miss the clenched jaw of the handsome soldier.

"My brother doesn't care about me. He hates us!" Thor hissed against his restraints and her caring cloth.

Chiara sucked against her teeth. "If you didn't carry so much rage or hubris, you would've been so handsome. Now, do you really wish to become a god?"

Confusion caught his words and his knitted brow. Chiara's sly smile morphed into something to be believed as she continued to dab and focus on kindness. "Would you like to see?" she whispered softly against the skin of his ear.

As his hair rippled with her breath and the electric bindings around him jolted through his body. The warm sensation was an embrace he had never felt before. It was comforting – no, empowering. Skies rattled above him, announcing his dominance, and the greys rolled through skies. Dark elves and frost giants stood across from him, but this was not their shelter. The thunder that echoed was not one of nature. Their surroundings shook with the sound and the earth cracked with his might as his mere fist did more than Mjolnir ever could. This was his might. This was what he wanted.

His enemies fell through the pitch, darkness encompassing their fall as not even Thor's brightest bolt could find them. But a hunter like him always found his target. He was a saviour, a protector, a god to his people. Odin never thought his son could be greater than his own glory. With her, he could be.

"Odin never wanted you to be greater than him, to defeat his legend with your own magnificence," Chiara drawled as the rain fell and washed the dirt from his hair. "But a dead king has no power."

Before him everything changed as her words wove a tapestry of a future. "Together, your adopted brother and you would've become Asgard's and Jotunheim's most powerful rulers of past and future. The Nine Realms would be united and would kneel to its two kings willingly. Opposing armies would shiver at the mentions of your armies. They would shatter at the sight of gold and ice. The most clever and most powerful of the Nine Realms together would be unstoppable. The two of you could erase any epic of Odin's he cherished."

The vision before him broke and all he could see were the galaxies in her eyes. "Help me to put you where you belong." Her cherry lips caressed his own, his blood tinging her tongue with iron. "Let me place you amongst those who can claim to be gods."

"You destroyed my army, my men! You have no heart! You are not a god, let alone a princess!" Thor spat as he shook out of his dreams.

Chiara's dark laugh danced around him as she shrugged out of her armour. Her bare, milky skin craved to be touched. The image of her feathers craved to be fondled. The rump of her bottom perfectly poised to be grasped. But all that was stolen from him as she slipped into the elegant wrap dress that fell over her hands and feet. Stars danced from her eyes to the black silk that wrapped her in its darkness.

"When will you learn, dear king? Gods have no hearts. They aren't merciful or kind. Life is a toy that they will never be bored of. No king or queen can be kind and be a god, let alone a good ruler. But if you don't wish to join me, then you may find comfort in a cage."

She let out a low whistle. The two that had dragged him in stole him into the night. He watched as he was tossed into a tall prison and the soldier to write the letter return to her shelter.

"Do you think he'll break?" Steve asked as he shared a drink with his princess.

"In time, he will. But I need to speak to you about your men." She placed her modest cup down, the contents empty. "They will not survive this next test."

"My men are prepared for anything," Steve fought back.

She shook her head, a soft hand splaying across his. "Time is not kind to mortals, and this trial coming up will be a wait of a long, tenuous time. Not even all of my creatures will survive the wait, but they know what comes with their damnation. They have bounties of it, but time always runs out."

He should have believed her. He should have told his men. But the lesson caught up to them long before his words could. Old age took them as they saw fewer battles than they believed. The world changed around him, but his world never changed. She was always there.


	4. Chapter 4

Time passed slowly and too calmly. Nothing but servitude, silence, and patience filled the passage. The Captain never left her. He remained ageless like his princess, but his heart yearned to save her from insipidity so they could wreak war once more. The call for fight whispered louder and louder each night he was kept in her castle. Further and further into the abyss of his insanity did he delve every passing still moment. Just as he was about to explode, she sent him away to destroy a few measly men. But it was never enough.

"Darling," Chiara started as she watched the superhuman run yet another lap around the vast grounds of the hidden palace. "How would you feel about escorting the Broken King and me to his crumbling kingdom?"

"Not interested," he breathed as he ran past her yet again.

"Are the missions not enough for the everlasting human?" she huffed as her brow furrowed.

"You promised me a victory outshining any that preceded or succeeded it for millennia! But since that battle with the golden army, I've been here, hidden away with you, only leaving for a week or two to deal with simple men. They were no victories!" he roared.

The princess stood her ground. Even in her simple garment, she was the regal warrior to saunter into his tent all that time ago. "Battles must be won before the war. And war isn't all about the fight. It is politics," she hissed as she closed the gap between them. "We have plenty of time to achieve the inevitable victory."

He chose his words, but said none.

"If it's a fight worthy of your prowess you crave, then fight me."

Her words hung in the air like his shirt to his muscles. She was serious. He was riled. It was tempting. A demonstration of his speed was executed on her as his hand clasped around her throat. A bruising grip closed around her breath, but he still hadn't given an answer.

Daytime skies searched her midnight ones as the grip flexed along her skin. "I've seen why they call you the Warrior Princess." His words danced along her lips as his fiery puffs blended with her cooled, shallow breaths. "If I were to win against you, it would be the greatest victory to dullen all wars."

She waited patiently for his next words. Her lips parted just enough for her to push just a few words.

Steve's chuckle was dark. "No… You may be the Warrior Princess, but you will always be my baby doll." His kiss was ferocious, gluttonous, and ravenous. His tongue met hers before their lips could even close. He did not let her go and she didn't want him to. For just this once, she could lose.

"I'll go with you and that scum of a king only if we do it my way."

With a potion of her making coursing through his veins, Thor followed behind the soldier and the warrior around his kingdom. It was if nothing had changed. Civilians meandered around with smiles on their faces and pleasant conversation falling from their lips. Nothing of his image had changed with the exception of a fuller beard and tied hair, yet no one turned their head at their returned king.

"Civilian clothing can hide a lot, your highness," Steve sneered at the Asgardian over his escort's head. "There is nothing left for you here."

Chiara kept her words to herself, allowing her captain to take his charge. This was his turn to show how he could break his competition.

"Your guards died for nothing, suffered for a kingdom that needed saving only from their king," Steve continued. "The sun shines brighter when there isn't so much golden pride blocking its glow."

Behind dullen blue eyes, the crown that Thor so tightly grasped fell with a clatter. From so far, the skies cracked with the breaking of the once-king. It sang like crystals in the princess's ears. For the time he sacrificed in her prison, he had held on with the single hope for his kingdom – his people. But they didn't need their king. They never did. A king was always replaceable, and Thor was just another name on the list. He wasn't the King of Asgard, he wasn't the God of Thunder; there was nothing left of the kingdom's greatest warrior, most worthy of Odin's and Asgard's praise. Not even Valhalla would take him now.

Steve wasn't done with the prideful king. "Shall we take a walk through the hall of fallen heroes?"

The arm laced through his tightened ever so slightly. The soldier looked down at the girl full of promise only to see the faintest of smiles curl at the corner of her lip. He was more than a soldier. Steve was a Captain. Strategy, studiousness, and strength were qualities that earned him the title. It was the lead factor that had others following his every command without second thought. In their hearts, he could change their beating tides with a few choice words. Promises were easy to make, but he made them easy to keep.

Asgard's royal sector of the fallen heroes held few statues and epics. Gold had become lesser on the outwardly appearance of Asgard, but the gold statues of its heroes stood tall and gleaming in the light that never ceased.

Steve allowed her to pour over the inscriptions and the poems left around the fallen. He had come to accept her fascinations. From her accounts, he had learned the history that he once believed he knew was weaved with spindles of glittering, pretty lies between the truths. She shrouded her world and her people in mystery and facades, but she always knew the truth – always had to know the truth.

They had made it to the end of the hall. Odin's younger self gazed forward with the pioneering determination he passed on to his children. Many of his children stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their tales bleeding into one another. Vidar, Balder, Aldrif – all fallen, all present. Their stories ended where the others began, but the final child of Odin left no room for another.

Thor knew of none of his father's other children, all slain before his birth or sent to exile. Their lives were spent saving what they held dear, protecting Asgard. Valhalla surely welcomed them with open arms, and embraced by their mother when they reunited.

His shoulders slumped when he realised that all the stories led to one end. Odin's daughter, Aldrif, ended the tale of Odin's children. There was no room for Loki, the betrayer, and nothing for their king who could not defend his people. They were better off without him; better off forgetting him.

"It's better to be forgotten than despised," Chiara voiced from the base of Balder's statue.

Steve helped his princess from her crouch. Her eyes were beyond the words she had read. What she had spoken had its meaning laying beyond advice passed down to her. For just a blink, he was reminded of how old the young woman was. Forever the image of youth and prosperity, her mind was trapped in the eternity of the stretches of time. The king and queen that reigned above her were as old as time itself, but they were saved from the capture of being present.

Tales were shared around fires and temporary homes when he shared the battlefield with her people. The Infinites to birth their Dark Princess were magnificent, powerful, and everlasting. But they were always beyond them. Only the oldest and most powerful had seen their faces, but they all had felt their power. The purest of damnation were the luckiest to see their faces, and they were willing to share the beauty in which they were forced to yield to. Their beautiful princess could only come from the deepest depths of darkness and power.

Thor's voice thrusted Steve from his reverie. "I was nothing to them."

The crack in his voice was brief. Bitterness of resentment and melancholy painted his words between breaths of apathy. Darkness loomed in his blue eyes. The signs of a storm raged on leagues away, but they reflected so closely in his blues. The kingdom of gold wasn't nearly as bright, but he could see it clearly. On the throne that he should've still been on sat another.

"Thor," Chiara breathed, a stilling hand on his tensed arm. "A true king awaits his time. The greatest of warriors didn't win with speed or at the soonest moment to attack. The greats of time throughout the universe waited, patiently trained and counted for the opportunity, strategized for their moment. Moments don't appear. Temptations that lead to failure are clear. Opportunities are manifested by those deserving to win."

"We can open the gates to the strongest you can be," Steve continued from her. "And together, we will be unstoppable. These people aren't loyal to you. Those loyal don't forget their own."

"With me you will be more than Odin ever thought you could be," Chiara promised. The rolling storm was deafening. Rain, thunder, and the brightest lightning struck the skies as they clasped hands. Steve neared his cloak around his shoulders at the sound. It surrounded them. They were the eye in the centre.

"Thank you, Steve," Chiara began as she cleared the formerly occupied cell of her spells. "I should've trusted your strategy long ago."

"I joined you not solely for the glory you offered. You let me be more than just a captain." The kind smile of his past life broke across his face. "Besides, I couldn't let such a valuable asset remain defiant and blind to your greatness."

Her dark hair shook against her back. "Regardless, I shouldn't be wasting your skills on such minor missions. I apologise for the time it has taken for me to regain my strength back."

It was improper, but he couldn't stop himself. Steve enveloped the smaller girl in his arms, kissing her through the thicket of hair. "You saved your people and gave my men more freedom and wisdom in their living time than they could've ever gained in the naivety we were once in. I may not always agree, but you are my queen and I will follow you."

Sincerity glittered her eyes like the stars he remembered seeing. "Your loyalty and intelligence has earned you a reward. What is that you would like to ask for, Captain?"

He kissed the lips that turned to him, their warmth sweet and simple. "Let me lead this warfare."

Understanding, she pulled him along the many halls until a room etched with her runes was reached. A blood spell constructed by her kept such a bare room a secret. The heavy regal desk stood alond in a barren room. Constructed by her hands, the wall behind the desk housed the ebb and flow of continual information and security. Opposite her magic was a simple wall of photos. Steve stood in the small room in wonder at the gazes that looked back at him. Stolen moments and government profiles littered the wall in a semblance of order.

"When did you have time to do all of this?" he wondered as he grazed a hand across the amass of information.

She shrugged. "An Immortal has need for little sleep. Here is the base of where the footprint of the world can be found. All those small tasks I sent you on helped in gathering all that can be found."

Steve couldn't help but shake his head. "This can't be everything."

The smirk crossed her face faster than the chuckle leaving her. "No, but it's a start and a very good portion. There's still information that can only be gathered directly from the source. But I want you to focus on someone you should have little problems with."

With a snatch, a picture was torn from the board and beheld to him. A face he recognised but not the man he once knew stared at him in such disdain, caution, and mistrust. "Bucky…"

"James Buchanan Barnes now turned into the Winter Soldier. Study the person that he is now. There is no detail too small. You learn him, you learn the Winter Soldier Regime," Chiara ordered.

And there it was again. For long it had been only a dull thud against an empty well. Once more could she hear his drums of war beating through his veins. It was his lifeline, his bane of existence, and what he tasted on her lips and on her skin all those battles ago. This was a new war he could learn to win. This was the new war he would win.

* * *

**A/N: I hope everyone is practicing self-isolation/quarantine and safe and healthy habits! Wash your hands, don't touch your face, and only go out where and when it's necessary! Don't take more than you need, and remember to give to those you cannot help themselves!**

**This is a time we need to be working together as a global community; not just individual, private communities. Let's not perpetuate hate! Support those who have to risk a lot to help us and support those who have fallen even harder. **

**After all this is done, let's not forget the lessons we learned. Hate is not becoming of anyone. We are all one big community. But most importantly, let's stop blaming one another and just start helping!**

**Be it through story telling, film, fun activities, or whatever, let's band together and help one another stay home and stay safe and sane!**

**(Please feel free to like my story and/or drop a comment.)**


	5. Chapter 5

A precaution to those who stood in her way and a reminder to those who dared to dream of rebellion: at the sight of a raven, forfeit your hopes. The raven that flies alone is the mark of the Immortal that bends to no law but her own.

Chiara stood in the rain, her hair slicked back into a knot that mirrored her war moniker. Her two ravens, Dûrion and Mordollwen, trotted along the earth beside her. Rain beat on their heads as the darkness in them loomed with the clouds above. They were unimpressed and the two birds gained disappoint the longer they remained drenched. The hour had settled into Thor's bones more than the cold of the sky's tears. Her task was simple. No flounce or glamour more than to strike a single bolt from the clearing above. Sixty minutes and counting had passed, and all that he could conjure was a simple spark between fingertips.

Not a single stir rose from her stoic stance as the rain continued to beat down against porcelain skin. Bored and frustrated, the two birds flapped towards their aviary at the highest window.

He could feel the electricity in the air. The thickness was palpable in the skies. But it was so far from being under his control.

"Dry yourself off," she began as she started to turn back in. "Meet me in the drawing room."

A luxurious liquid splashed up the sides of two whiskey glasses. Its auburn colour glowed in the firelight along with its warmth spreading through vein and air. A drier and relaxed Thor fell into the armchair beside the sofa she casually curled herself upon. The large swig of the alcohol warmed him from his core, rivalling the comforts of palace fires.

"What were you thinking whilst out there when you were trying to achieve your task?" she asked as she poured more from the decanter between them.

"I envisioned all the times that lightning had fallen when I had asked. I remembered the times of when the simple raise of my hammer would call all that I needed. The simple act of a wild bolt igniting the ground by accident," he repeated, his past thoughts straining his energy to complete the task. Frustration tore at him like it did many times over as a prisoner. The chains of a father were stronger than any spell on a son.

The spirit fell from decanter to Thor's empty glass without any action from either of them. "Manipulation of what already exists is simple," Chiara started. "Creating what isn't is a skill not many are able to contain."

A ball of violet energy bounced along her delicate fingers. The unnatural light grew as it danced. A deep rumbling grew deafening with its size. The familiar trudge of armies boomed around them as blinding light took them elsewhere. A different palace encompassed them, but familiarity loomed in his bones. This was his bedchambers on Asgard, but the comfort of gold and his childhood were amiss. Silver and rubies replaced what once was gold and wood. A darkness that was never allowed under his father's rule was suddenly all that Thor could feel.

A warm hand fell gently against Thor's clothed back. No armour of protection barricaded him. He was free to fall under her spell. An outfit he had once seen fluttering at a palace ceremony draped around her. She guided him to his window. Gardens planted by his mother and other aristocratic women flourished beneath the height. A quiet city with no bright lights or bustling actions rested calmly against the dull light of what lay beyond.

"Try again to light the sky," Chiara whispered against his skin.

She watched as the struggle of loss and past decisions haunted across his concentration. Even in the safe world she gave him, he was plagued by his own imaginations. Molten gold fell from her hands in his mind, unable to save his men, unable to save his kingdom, but still his people moved on. He didn't matter; what did matter was his ability to do as she asked. His belief in his princess was strong, but nothing could overcome a king's guilt.

Two hands snaked upwards unto a grizzled jaw. The full beard of the God of Thunder was thick and gruff. She was not lost in the hair, but at home as it was so much like the forests that guarded her home. The princess broke the fallen king's heavy sight from the dark skies. Buried deep in his blues was the electric shock she knew.

Nothing could prepare Thor for her. Petal lips found a rhythm against brusque ones. They coaxed the king without a throne out from rubble, decay, and defeat. This was what it meant to be a god. She did not go far as her lips left his. The power that ignited in his veins burned with the strikes of lightning begging to be released. A single kiss was enough to clear the fog laid by his blood.

Without thought, a small crack broke the darkness above them. But all he could see was her.

"Forget your past. Odin did not give you this power. You had it bestowed upon you by an Infinite." Her breath mixed with the electricity in the air, drawing him into her. "Mjölnir was Odin's tool to fool you. Belief is a strong power that only a few lay beyond it. Remember your power lies within you and you alone. I cannot make you do more than you care capable of."

She stood on her toes and kissed him briefly once more before turning to the skies. "Show me the greatness that lies in your heart."

Thor's palms reached out around her, beyond the pair. Nature's stillness raised chills along the princess's arms. The air was heavy enough to curl fingers around. Chiara knew as well as the skies that the man behind her was finding his place in the natural order, in the True World.

It wasn't much, but a strong stream of lightning fell into his open palms. It danced between his open grasps. The two familiarised with one another, finding reflections of each other in the small interaction. With him, lightning would always strike twice, thrice, more. With it, he would strike with the might more than any dying star could conjure. The bolt's siblings danced behind invisible clouds above them. They had found their home.

Her façade dissipated around them as more light shot into him. His eyes were no longer his; they were of storms that tore and cut at obstacles. His blues were now the homes of power that could never be stopped. She broke the dam that Odin created. The fear of mortals would always lose to the strength of what they could never understand.

So much of Thor was left despite the feeling of totality that now ran through his mind and blood. The force that shot from the sky was now part of him and he it. Rain fell against him without its cold. His slate was clean, his blood pure. The dark city of Asgard was gone, replaced with the open field of the cold manor and his princess. His eyes remained electrified as he looked down at the girl in his arms.

Words he could never understand tumbled from her lips. They oozed through his muscles and veins, scourging every spell and lie that was buried deep within. Her delicate skin smoothed over his physique and memorized every curve. Over her head, an opaque figure bounced with rain. The dark clouds heaved their tears onto the earth. Every weighty drop was for the newly found God of Thunder.

Armour unfamiliar to him encased his body from her delicate touch. The darkest of metals stretched around him like oceans of the worlds. Asgard's runes – his father's magic – were forgotten as the metal hugged every dip and rise of his body like leather. His cape fell into the soaked earth as a balance of death and blood. Flexing beneath the new attire and under her fingers, a grin broke out across his face.

Chiara couldn't resist the need to mirror him. "How does it feel?"

Thor picked her up in an embrace that could rival the strength of his fallen armies. Her warmth seeped through the metallic barrier and around his mending heart through her warm lips. She was the greatness he had heard so much about. She opened gates barred by so much strength. The darkness she carried around was not one to fear. The darkness that loomed around her and her heart was a depth of truth and of a world that knew light was not always holy. In his arms he could see what captured the Captain and why after so long he kneeled to only her. Even with all devotion and loyalty, she asked for none of it beyond what they could offer. She bent their wills and their limitations only to result in the greatest they could ever be.

She was war, chaos, and death in its purity. She was the blanket of night that protected all in its shadows. She bade the light away, sheltered those that couldn't live in its blinding falsities. In the dark, you are who you want to be. The Princess of Darkness was every bit her parents' daughter. Those who knew death and true night knew they were not of fear, but of kindness and justice. The Eternal Night was inevitable and necessary. The Eternal Night would be brought by her with the aid of the world.

"Call for it once more," she urged as she landed on the ground. A smile rested against her face as she stepped away from him.

With ease, nature's power ruptured the skies and onto the ground he stood on. Strike after strike, his hand captured it all. The solidity of the bolt shook in his clasped fingers until more and more wrapped around it.

"An axe?" he breathed as the light cleared. Inscriptions of a language he had never seen settled around the blade's edges. The handle, mightier and longer than his hammer, felt perfect in his hands. The weight was nonexistent, but as it swung to the ground, the earth shattered with its might and weight.

A soft breath of wind wafted around his hairs. A whisper from a voice he had never heard reached him. It was stranger than all that he had heard before, but a comfort was brought with it. "Jarnbjorn…"

"Only those worthy of an Infinite's gift can wield what they forge. Jarnbjorn was born from the first storm beyond the times of mortals. Summanus wielded it in the darkest of nights to control the striking light. This axe is the symbol of the darkest storms, rumbling thunder, and blinding lightning," Chiara explained as she traced the sharp edge.

Black blood spilled from her finger that trailed the weapon. Never did he see her bleed. No weapon could harm her so easily.

"Only items of Immortal or Infinite lineage can harm me," she answered his unasked question. "Be mindful of its care and its powers."

She watched him retreat back into the home. Admiration poured from him as he toyed with his new toy. The faint symbol of the Infinite appearing on his cape.


	6. Chapter 6

The cold had begun to settle as the sound of foraging animals resounded in the still of the forest. Fires roared in every room. None could burn warmer than her touch.

Steve rested flat in the grand bed. The spatters of ancient spells stared back at him from the ceiling of her room. Beside him, the covers had already run cool. His black sweatshirt hung comfortably over his bedmate as she paced the room with a journal in her hands. Dark hair wrapped at the nape of her neck uncontrollably after the shape his hands had morphed it. Though he wanted her to rest for longer, he kept his lazuli orbs on her silently.

"How certain can you be about her?" Chiara asked as she swiped through his report. "Her civilian record stops at 8-years-old."

"You can't fake blood." Gently, he grabbed her back down to him and found the part of his report where his trail began. "The Soviets have a very good intelligence program, but they can only scourge so much."

Chiara leered at the research her Captain had done. The elusive spider had never been caught. The deadly arachnid never left a trace. Her victims were many, but on public record never found. She was a deadly graduate of the Red Room. The princess couldn't resist a moment to admire both Steve and the Russian woman.

"Find everything you can on the Red Room and Department X. There has to be more of her."

The fire and the night unified their light in her room like a blanket of safety. Though not too long ago adrenaline pumped through him like an added drug, sleep settled into his easing muscles. With the royalty beside him, no soreness was present for long. She was her peoples' fierce warrior, but in this very moment she was the delicate princess of hopeful tales.

So near to sleep, Chiara found herself burying further into the Captain's embrace. He smelt of open fields of unsodden war ground. An aroma of calming peace emitted from his chest and filled her senses. His embrace was the rest she could finally take after eons of war. Steve Rogers could slay an army with unimaginable determination and stamina, but this delicacy of gentleness was only for his most prized. She would always be his princess he would die to protect.

The one place he could never be was in her dreams. Her father granted her wish and led her directly to the woman she had sights on. A familiar destruction lay in a heap as she sifted through nature's debris at the front steps. Hopelessness and solitude became reacquainted within the woman. No survivors, but that was secondary to the mission. Red hair slipped in front of her as she wandered down the dark abandonment. No light, no sound, no life. This was what she knew in her heart better than she knew herself.

"Natasha, do you read me?" a personal voice echoed from above ground.

"Hey ya, Barton. Kind of busy at the moment," she resounded back as she took turn after turn down dark hallways.

"I've got orders for extraction in 30 minutes. Just do what you have to do."

No need to be told twice. She found the room with pods and rows of information. Two agents were lying dead on the ground, magazines empty of any ammunition. There was no pity of sympathy for the corpses as tactical boots delicate stepped over them. They were never her objective. Picking the locked room at the back open, a cold silence rushed towards her. What should've been colours glaring at her was just cold, black darkness.

Chiara felt every bulb, paper, and book the red-head did. Just another form of armour that was less protective than they thought. A single handle struck the blind hand. With a strong pull, the heavy hardware fell as dead weight to her side.

But the large item wasn't enough. Blindly reaching around, everything felt the same. Bulb, paper, book; book, paper, bulb. Whichever way it was placed, it was all the same and not the valuable she needed. Way up near the end of her reach was the feel of a soft ribbon. With a gentle tug, it fell in her open palm but the softest of clicks resounded. Grace and speed were just a few wishes the woman was putting forth. Even as the light of the sky broke the darkness did she never cease her determination to run farther and farther. It wasn't until the earth shuddered beneath did Chiara realise the fail-safe they had all along.

Invisible to all others, Night waited for his daughter to wake in her comfortable loveseat in front of the fire. His hollow appearance looked more ghoulish under the fiery light. His pure obsidian stare bore into the orange flames. The light shuddered into a burning blue with a shift, and the sounds of his daughter elicited his excitement.

"Hello Starlight," Night greeted his alert daughter. After all the millennia, she was still the bundle of joy he first held in her secret birth. No matter the mask she wore, he could always see the stars in the skies he painted just for her.

"What are you doing here?" his princess asked as he gently kept her lying in her captain's embrace.

Night smiled so soft it rivalled the moon's reflections. "Can a father not check up on his little star?"

"There's always a reason, Father," she reasoned as she settled back into comfort. "If it's about Rogers, he's followed every command and Thor has been recognised by Summanus. It won't be long until our people are part of this world."

"I trust you, Starlight, but there are some things even your mother and I can't protect you from." With a gift of magic beyond time and space, proper sleep befell his daughter. A sleep she hadn't gotten since her beginning years, it was calm and steady, deep as the ocean waves Night rocked with the power of moon. A father's job was to protect his children, but an Immortal was no child to rear normally.

He shushed the giggling stars and nocturnal creatures as he stepped from her bedroom. For now, she was protected by others better suited for the mortal world.

Stars left the night sky and reappeared across her fully rested gaze. Solitude encased her room as she stretched across what she could of the overly large bed. Only her father could give her a rest to rejuvenate a soul for centuries.

The worlds she had known and begun to know buzzed in her bloodstream. Their nature, their science, and their magic coursed through her without a thought. Life was hers to steal and gift all again.

"You look anew," Steve said as he ruffled his gentle hair with the softest of towels.

Chiara smiled. "I feel like myself again. But about our little Russian – I have more information for you to trifle for."


	7. Chapter 7

Leading her armies took on a new meaning with the assumption of Thor beside her. Both Steve and Thor trained harder together, both unbreakable with their determination to prove themselves more than what their princess assumed. Rage, bitterness, determination, and a far-off dream worked them harder than Chiara could. Bare skin beat against unbridled strength each morning as the cold bit at their exposed skin. The only way either could be better than how they were founded was without their weapons.

"Shields are to be used in desperation, to stall inevitable defeat. Blades are for those who only know rage and destruction," she had begun on their first training against one another. "If you can learn to fight without a crutch, you can fight anything."

They watched many times over as she became mist and shadow with her movements. She shook the earth and broke the skies above. Holding back, the universe around her still quaked. How could they ever stand up next to her? Even as she sat on the edge of the field with a book, never laying an eye on their skills, they pushed to topple the other.

"That's enough." Her words were barely above a whisper, but both soldiers froze mid strike. Their hair matted to their heads in fatigue and their chests lifted with heavy breaths. But it mattered not how they looked. There was no glamour anymore.

With weighted breaths and heavy bodies, the two males trudged past their princess.

Alone, the dark princess could hear the hum of the brewing war. Restlessness grew through the earth, crashed with the oceans, and blew with the winds. The universe wanted their purge, and their beacon was fading through postponement. She was the only one, the only force that could do what needed to be done. They had given her the world but she just wouldn't take it. Whispers of all that opposed her grew as her power in the world faded. Even the legends that passed from tribe to tribe faded with the dying breaths of their tellers. She was a dusty book forgotten on the shelves of civilizations long believed to be dead. But as people forgot, those beyond the world of mortality did not.

Although not at war, armour cladded over her chest and shoulders to barricade her neck in a high collar of silver mercury. The rich, black fabric hung low on her waist, connected to the distant metal by a few simple rods. Her exposed skin lay sight to her unmarred appearance, but were scattered by the kiss of stars. Black wings folded neatly behind her and her starry gaze fell on clear skies.

Never once had either Asgardian or Super Soldier heard the stillness that came with Death's daughter. Air and earth took pause as her Immortal magic replaced the spaces between. From the warmth of her hospitable manor, the two watched as their princess unfolded into her most natural self. Steve and Thor struggled to keep their ogling to themselves. This was who they willingly followed. This was the princess that so many admired. This was the warrior that will lead and win countless battles. Chiara was the one who will end the endless war.

The trail of red coloured her vision. The deep blues of the darkness beyond flooded with the crimson of never-ending sacrifice as it poured from its sources. Lines in the sky bled from the universe into the clear blue sky of where she stood. She could smell it. Soap and iron battled the small fight along her skin. She was so easy to find.

"Natalia…" Her name fell from the princess's lips so easily.

Things altered so suddenly. The molecules between her magic radically returned to motion and fought to fill the void where magic once was. Wind rushed through their lungs so pure and absent of her, it burned their mighty chests. She was no longer there. She was alone, out in the world, without the men that swore to protect and fight for her.

* * *

Chiara didn't belong. Leather and thick metal singed the air around the cold veins. Magic was locked out, scorned, and banished. The ancient world was forgotten and any remnant was burned to ashes and lost to the wind. She could feel the abandonment of her kindred, of her people. Hatred and disdain for those in a life cursed to another were putrid in the small containment of mortals.

Despite all that barred her, the little arachnid's scent was strong. The black hemline of her trailing skirt flirted with the linoleum flooring. She was invisible to all, her magic beyond what they could detect with whatever magic they began to term science.

There she lay, in the beginnings of feather-light sleep. Kneeling against the bedside, Chiara granted a slumber the young mortal hadn't had since her time before the Red Room. There were many like her, but she was the one graduate of the elite program that the darkness called for. Softly, the black feathers caressed the woman as her dreams were infiltrated by the bringer of such peaceful sleep.

Depths of black were comfort, but the warm heart beat the low strobe of light that only lame mortals could carry. The Red Room's pride and joy was the sole being to have left with her soul intact. Chiara grinned at the delicious flavour the Russian girl offered. There were secrets beyond what they could control in this little girl's heart, and a fire they could never control. She was to be the prime model for those to follow, but she was never their toy.

"What humble dreams you have, Natalia," Chiara muttered as her wing continued to ease the Russian in her sleep. "I am sorry that these dreams are your nightmares."

Chiara watched on as Natalia helped a child with a head of strawberry blonde and piercing blue eyes bake in a classic kitchen. Nothing spectacular, nothing extravagant; just humble life away from chaos, death, and gunpowder. Both girls wore a smile that only love could bring. They didn't need anyone else.

The little girl played on with the dough as her mother answered the phone.

"We'll find each other if you search for what you want." Chiara's voice seeped into the spy. This will not be the only night she would hear her voice.

* * *

"There is less time than I had hoped for you two," she softly breathed as she watched for what lay beyond anyone's sight. "You must prepare to face your brother."

"I cannot take him alone," Thor debated as he chased after her sudden return.

Distant stars gazed into the clear skies of the Asgardian's. "No, you cannot. I will call for the command of a regiment, but you must be the one to defeat him. You needn't kill him, but he cannot wear the crown of Asgard."

"You have my shield, Thor." Valour radiated from the earthly soldier. The roar of his former army rumbled within him and propelled him through turbulence. Though time had left them behind, they did not leave him.

With her mother's sight, Chiara marvelled at the array of colour and heartbeats from the single soul. Where once was the deepest of blues now was a patchwork of darkness. Reds, greens, blues, purples, and greys bled together, bursting forth from the captain's deepest hues. You needn't be able to read beyond the natural planes to see his heart.

The future king clasped hands with the captain. A flash of their might struck her as she witnessed the agreement. Skies and earth would join between them, rally at whatever cause, trusting their leaders with fierce loyalty and their lives. Kingdoms would fall, but they would be there to re-erect their magnificence. United they could rise so near to the gods. Their might would know no bounds and the skies would open for them even in the darkest nights.

"Excellent. Tomorrow, you both beginning training with me."


End file.
